


Professor Evil, the Airhead, and the Password

by Astray



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercutio falls prey to a Blue Screen of Doom, right before sending his essay to his very evil professor. An essay due the same day. Desperate times calling for desperate measures, he has only one choice: call said teacher and pray his death will be a swift one. </p>
<p>[Side-story to the SMAUG, but can be read on its own. Inspired by a true story.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professor Evil, the Airhead, and the Password

Mercutio was sick. Not the little cold thing he had been getting on a regular basis for years. No. It was the crippling flu that just left him to his own device. He actually had to threaten Tybalt for him to get to Uni instead of staying. He could take care of himself, but he did not need Tybalt catching it. Partly because they would have to ask someone to do the grocery shopping, as if they were old men; partly because a sick Tybalt is a grumpy Tybalt, and he was not sure he would be able to handle the combined grumps.

And so, Mercutio was alone at home. Giving the finishing touch to an essay he had to hand in today, otherwise he was skewered. Literally. On one of the building's spyre. Why did he have to pick that class again? He knew that Marlowe was evil... He groaned.

As soon as he was done, he save it to his computer, and sent it to himself – an old habit Benvolio had forced into him after a memorable computer crash that had him lose his work a while back. Now, to send it to Mr. Evil. He hated emails. His head was pounding, and he was just so absolutely parched that he could drink gallons of water. It was over soon. He was halfway through the email when Fortune decided to turn the wheel to crush him – the screen went blue, then black. Not just the screen, the computer was down. He yelled – and regretted it immediately, his throat not being up for the sudden exercise. He tried to turn it back on. Nothing. Panic seized him. He was dead. He was so damn dead! Marlowe was going to butcher him, there was no other way, damnit! His heart threatening to burst, he did was he did in a panic – he called Benvolio. He could have called Tybalt, but Benvolio knew all about his Marlowe situation. Thank deities, Benvolio picked up fast.

“What's going on?”

“You're in class.” And damnit, his voice broke. He was so close to tears, he would scream in frustration.

“Merc, what's up? You okay?”

“Essay... my comp died. Before I could send. What do I do? He's gonna maul me!” A violent cough stopped him.

“It's for Marlowe? Call him. He'll understand.”

“No.”

“Merc, you are sick, I'm not arguing with you. You call Marlowe, you tell him, and you go back to take care of yourself. I'll be there right after class and we'll sort it out.”

And Benvolio hung up on him. It never happened. He felt hurt, because he had a hunch he had pissed him off. Ben was right, though. He had to call Marlowe. And call Marlowe he did – he prayed he was not in class.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

“ _Mercutio. You sound like you could haunt the catacomb.”_

Mercutio took a second to wonder if Marlowe was like that with everyone or just him. But again, he had been taking his classes since he started his Bachelor.

“On my way. I call for the essay...”

“ _Yes?”_

_Damn, he's doing the eyebrow thing, I'm dead and buried!_ “I finished it. But my computer crashed before I could send it to you.”

A sigh at the end of the line: _“I wonder why I still accept you in my classes. You are brilliant, but you make me reconsider the whole 'giving essays to write' business.”_ A pause, and more gently: _“Do you know someone who could get it and print it?”_

And he thought, hard. Tybalt was in class, so was Benvolio... Nope. So he told his teacher.

“ _Alright. If you agree, I could access your University email account, and get it from here.”_

To Mercutio's addled brain, this sounded brilliant. And the only solution at the moment.

“If that's okay...”

“ _Mercutio, if it wasn't I would not have said it. I'd need your password.”_

Mercutio froze. That was a lame password. He was not going to hear the end of it.

“ _Whatever it is, I won't make fun of you.”_

“Not convinced.”

“ _As you should. So?”_

“It's: s0searchingr0me0. No caps, zeros in place of Os.” For a moment, he just heard the keyboard. But he could practically _hear_ the smile.

“ _Really?”_

“Don't make me say it again.” He was going to die. It was so damn embarrassing.

“ _I won't. So, that's the last one you saved?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _Alright. I'll save it and print it for you. So the hard copy is also on time.”_

“Thank you.”

“ _You're welcome. Now, get that flu treated because I won't give you another pass on the presentation you have to do.”_

“Yes, Sir.”

“ _That's Professor Evil to you, Mercutio Della Scala.”_

 

It was only much later, when Mercutio was sitting on the couch with Benvolio picking his computer apart to retrieve the hard drives that it struck him. He froze, his steaming tea forgotten in his hands.

“Ben... I think I'm dead meat.”

“Marlowe got your essay, and he printed it for you, no? Unless you get a stinking grade, which I don't think you will, I don't see how.”

“I label my essays differently when I work on them. With the professor's name...”

Benvolio looked up, visibly puzzled: “I don't follow you.”

“I labelled it with Prof. Evil! _And he even told me after! I'm dead!_ ”

He wailed and practically sent his tea flying in an attempt to throw himself on the couch. Never mind that Benvolio seemed to think it was absolutely hilarious. To make things worse, so did Tybalt when he told him. Rather, when Benvolio told him, because Mercutio had decided he would never tell a soul, because it was so embarrassing.

He still got a good grade on his essay, and he managed his presentation – and Marlowe did not even say anything nasty, which was odd. Mercutio was back to this very odd feeling that his professor actually liked him – he was fairly sure not many people got away with that kind of fuck up. He was not going to complain, because he was going to haunt Marlowe's class until he graduated.

 

 

 


End file.
